Chapter 19 #3
And then they send a picture of women's underwear soaked in cum. I gag before I swipe on the thread and delete them all.
But then I wish I hadn't, because the more I think about that picture, the more I wonder if those were my underwear. I have a pair like that; I'm pretty sure. I'm trying to remember if I've worn them recently—if I packed them when I moved into my hostage bunker or if I left them in my dorm.
I know this person has been in my dorm. But surely, he hasn't been in the house, too. It wouldn't be possible, would it?
I remember that day with the open door, and I'm not so sure.
Fuck this. Fuck. This.
I stop at a corner shop and buy another pack of cigarettes, because fuck Dax's stupid rule. Not only does he not care about me, they can't keep me safe at all.
I've been delusional.
As soon as I get outside, I light it, savoring that first fucking hit of nicotine. By the time I get back to the house, I've smoked two down to the filter.
I enter through the garage door, using the code as I typically do. Of course, Nolan is here.
"Hey, I was wondering where you were," he says. "It's getting late. I just sent you a text."
I'm not sure what to think about him right now, either. What is he going to think about me if I tell him I don't want to be here anymore? And that I can't be around Dax anymore?
He likes me. But he loves Dax.
Dax doesn't love him back, though—that's what he said.
I could love him back. I don't even think I need much. I just want someone who doesn't lie to me. I want someone who will be there on my worst days, and today is one of those days. I want someone who sets my soul on fire—someone who makes me question everything, in the best fucking way.
I want someone who wants me back without ulterior motives. Is that really too much to fucking ask for?
Yes, the voice in my head says. Everyone will disappoint you eventually.
"Sorry, I didn't see it."
"Dax said he's cool with doing whatever, so let me know what you want to do. There are a couple of movies that look good; I can send you the links. If you're not feeling that, we can hit up a couple of the bars after he gets back."
Sighing, I set my things down and sit beside him on the couch. I didn't want to do this right now.
"Or maybe we could leave right now?"
Nolan shrugs. "I guess. We could go grab dinner, and I can text him to meet us somewhere when they get home."
"No, I mean…I just want it to be us. I don't want to be around Dax right now."
His brow furrows in confusion. "Why not? What did Dax do?"
I swallow the lump in my throat. "He doesn't like me."
"What are you talking about? Dax likes you."
"No, he doesn't. You heard what he said the other day; you know how he thinks of me. He's manipulating me, and if Elias is right, then you know he is because you've watched him do it before."
I watch him consider it for a second before he says, "No. He didn't mean that, Saige. This is different; I can tell. I know him."
I press my lips together before blinking back tears. "No, it's not. I think you want it to be different, but it's not. I'm not special."
"That's not true. Just ask him; he'll tell you—"
"He'll lie," I say. "He lied about his name—he lies all the time. He's very good at it. He probably told all the other guys and girls with his art permanently etched into their skin that they were different, too, didn't he? Did you feel bad for them at all?"
"No. I just wanted them to go away." Huffing, I shake my head. "But Saige, it wasn't like this; that's what I'm telling you. I know what he said, and I know that it hurt you, but I know him. I know it's real—I can tell the difference. Can't you?"
I choke on a sob. "No." I sniffle before tears run down my cheeks. "I can't—I really can't tell the difference anymore. That's why I can't be around him. I'm not thinking clearly."
I'm really not thinking clearly, because it hurts so much to admit the truth, and if he walked in right now, I'd want nothing more than to climb into his lap, wrap my arms around him, and soak up every lie that comes out of his mouth while he soothes me into believing he cares about me—that I'm his princess, not a toy, and the three of us are going to live happily ever after.
If I were thinking clearly, I would tell myself what I've known for a long time now—that things like that aren't real, and they definitely aren't for people like me. But my brain needed something else to cope with everything that happened, and so I slipped into this instead.
I let myself think he loved me. But love doesn't look like this.
"Let me go get my stuff, and we'll go out, okay? We'll get out of the house, get something to eat, a couple of drinks, and we can talk about it more, if you want. Maybe you'll feel better then."
"But you won't call him?"
"I think we should call him, but I won't if you don't want me to."
"Okay."
I know I won't want him to.
"I'll be right back."
Nolan leans in and kisses me, but the second his tongue slips past my lips, something changes. He grabs my shoulders with both hands and pushes me off of him.
He shoves me with so much force that I fall backward off the couch, hitting my head hard on the coffee table. For a few seconds, everything goes dark. I turn onto my side, curling up in a ball on the floor, facing the sofa.
"Ow," I cry. I press my hand to the throbbing right side of my head, and when I pull it away, it's wet with blood. "Why'd you do that?"
What the fuck is going on? I think while I cry on the floor. Was he lying, too? Is he angry because of the things I said? Is he going to kill me?
I can't see him, but I hear him pacing the floor behind me. Part of me wonders if I should expect another blow. Maybe he'll hit me again…or stab me.
If that's the case, I'd rather he just get it over with.
"I'm bleeding," I sob. "It hurts so bad."
"Fuck…" he says finally. I can hear the panic in his tone as he paces behind me. "I'm sorry, Saige. I'm so sorry. It doesn't look like you need stitches; head wounds just bleed a lot, okay?"
"What?"
"I just need a minute. I need a minute, and I'll be right back. Just…stay there, okay? I'm so fucking sorry."
"Where are you going? What are you going to do?"
He repeats that he's sorry a few more times before I hear his footsteps on the staircase and then a door slamming.
He just went to his room. And left me here like this.
I lie there for another minute or so while my head pounds, trying to figure out what I did wrong. But he kissed me, didn't he? I didn't touch him.
When I finally pull myself up from the floor, I stumble toward the door, grab my backpack, and leave.